


You know he's not there, right?

by lorb



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Dealing With Loss, Heavy Angst, M/M, i love anything about dealing with loss, i wanted to make Grif suffer, listen this is literally just angst, so i did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorb/pseuds/lorb
Summary: Grif is well aware that people stop talking when he walks into the room. People stop mid-laugh as though it’s going to offend him somehow. They’re just idiots though, because nothing is wrong with Grif. Nothing has been wrong with Grif for a while now. That thing on the moon was just a phase, a temporary lapse of sanity that he has fully gotten over. They just don’t know how to read him, not like Simmons can. Speaking of who, he could use a break from everyone and their weirdness.





	You know he's not there, right?

Grif is well aware that people stop talking when he walks into the room. People stop mid-laugh as though it’s going to offend him somehow. They’re just idiots though, because nothing is wrong with Grif. Nothing  _ has been  _ wrong with Grif for a while now. That thing on the moon was just a phase, a temporary lapse of sanity that he has fully gotten over. They just don’t know how to read him, not like Simmons can. Speaking of who, he could use a break from everyone and their weirdness. He heads back to their shared bedroom. Simmons’ metal pieces glint in the momentary light from the hallway.

“Everyone’s acting like jackasses today.” He falls heavy on his bed.

“You always say they’re jackasses. Why is today any different,  _ jackass? _ ” Simmons voice clears out his head a little.

“You know what, Simmons? You are right. They’re always jackasses and I shouldn’t expect any more from them.”

“Are you ok, Grif?” 

“Not you too!” Grif rolls over, groaning.

“No, I meant you agreeing with me so easily, you stubborn fuck. That should be the 5th sign of the apocalypse, so we better all run for fucking cover.” Grif turns his head so he can look at Simmons with a smile.

“Thank god. Good, old, reliable, asshole Simmons.”

Sarge is knocking on the door. “Hrrrmmmm… Grif? We need to head out in an hour… Donut wanted you to take a shower before we go.”

“Do you need any help?” Donut’s voice is muffled through the door.

“Fuck off Donut. I don’t need any help in any shower. If you don’t press your luck, I’ll get there before it’s over.” 

“Grif… I think it’s important you go, for your mental health… For the closure? We all agree, right Sarge?” Grif can hear Donut slapping Sarge to back him up.

“It’s just the decent thing to do, son. Girly emotions aside, we support our team and our cause.” Sarge coughs uncomfortably. “So, 15:00 soldier.”

“You’re right, they are being absolute jackasses.” Simmons is the ever present voice of reason.

“Fuck off!” Grif pulls the pillow over his head and yells at the unwanted company beyond the door.

“Classic come back, Grif. Real original.” But for good measure, he adds “Fuck off, sir! You too, Donut!” Grif likes how Simmons laughs.

“Do you think we should go?”

“It’s kind of macabre, don’t you think? Us attending-”

“Ugh, Grif, you ok?” Donut really needs to fucking get lost.

“Good-bye Donut.” Grif bellows. 

“Either way, you need to take a shower, you’re absolutely disgusting you fucking pig. When was the last time you bathed? Was it before I-”

“Fine. I’ll shower.” Grif looks at Simmons on the bed. “I, ugh, miss touching you.” 

“I! Fuck! Grif! Go, ugh, Grif go shower.” Simmons red face has always been so insanely cute.

 

When Grif gets out of the shower, Donut is waiting outside the bathroom in a black sleeveless turtleneck. “I got you something to wear! Would you mind if I brushed your hair? Could I use some product to tame the curls a little? Do you want me to get you a snack?” Donut holds up a simple black button down short sleeve. Grif grabs it and throws it over his undershirt he had really meant to wear. 

“I look like a tourist.” He muses as he catches his reflection in a window they pass by. Grif pauses and touches the pale freckled skin stretched over the left side of his face. Donut grabs his arm and continues their walk to the bedrooms.

“I could braid it, but I wonder if that’s a little too fashiony for the… occasion. Maybe just some gel to keep it back, wouldn’t you look  _ debonair.  _ Or maybe strai-”

“Simmons says he likes it up.” Grif pulls his arm from Donut’s grasp.

“Did he say that? He was right, actually. A half bun suits you well.” The pair enter the room and Grif goes to lay back down in his bed. “We see all those beautiful curls and also your  _ lovely  _ multi-complexioned face! At least you have tha… Um, Grif?” Donut pauses.

He sits lightly on Simmons’ bed.

“What are you doing? Grif? Grif he’s going to crush me, help! You have to-” Grif gathers up the parts of Simmons he had left on the bed.

“I got you.” He whispered down to the skull plating.

“Grif?” Donut is gentle, reaching a hand out to touch Grif’s arm. Grif jerks away, dislodging some of the collected pieces. An old computer part clatters to the floor; the only sound in the room. Donut reaches down to pick it up, trying to calm the emotions he can feel rising up. “Is that… Simmons?”

“Who the fuck else?” Grif gently puts down the assortment of metal parts, lights, and household objects that had been considered acceptable cyborg pieces. He grabs the disc drive out of Donut’s hand and gingerly places it on the pile.

“Grif?” Donut carefully picks up the part containing the light that had once been Simmons’ eye. It’s completely dark. “You know he’s not in there, right?” Grif is quiet. “There’s no  _ Simmons _ here, buddy. It’s just… parts now.”

“Well if Church can survive in a bunch of computer parts, why can’t Simmons, huh?”

“I… I don’t think it works like.” Donut shoves down a little sob. 

“You don’t fucking know that.”

“I wish it did, Grif! But-”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Grif-”

“What, did your brain get damaged in the battle, too? Did you get shot in the fucking head? In the only part of you that wasn’t protected by  _ goddamn  _ metal plating and did the doctor fuck up your recovery surgery too? No? Then  _ fuck off Donut. _ ” Grif is not hiding the tears that are coming from both his brown and green eyes. “Get out and leave us alone.”

“What a fucking asshole.” Grif hears Simmons’ voice. He smiles at the disassembled cyborg pieces on the pillow as Donut backs out looking sadly at the scene.

“All you ladies ready to go? We can’t be late to one of our own’s memorial. Especially not Simmons’! He would not appreciate that at all, no sirree.” Sarge appears in the doorway. He looks at the room. “Is that what I think it is? I thought Grey got rid of the, hm, leftovers.”

“You’re a bunch of assholes.” Grif’s voice breaks. “Simmons isn’t fucking dead. We can still get him back! He’s right here! You can get him back, right Sarge.” Grif knows Simmons is going to call him out on complimenting his CO but his desperation is coming through his urgent movements and the cracking in his pleas.

“Son… I think he might be, a bit, beyond my expertise.” Sarge’s voice is soft in a way that unsettles Grif. “I wish I could… I, hrrrmmm. Let me see.” Sarge fakes a hopefulness and moves past Grif. He swallows hard, wipes his eye, then picks up some of the lifeless pieces. He picks up the skull plate, groaning in the emotional labor. Gently, he plucks out the eye light. He stands and places it in Grif’s hand. “He ain’t comin’ back, Grif. I’m sorry.”

* * *

Grif grabs the flask out of his pocket, feeling the round disc that used to light up indignantly every time Grif drank on the job. He drinks more than is socially acceptable, gaining concerned looks from everyone at the memorial. Jensen is weeping and Palomo is doing a terrible job comforting her. Tucker is laughing and telling the story of when Simmons got trapped on blue team. Though, teams don’t exist today; everyone is wearing black. Carolina had tried to give him advice but Grif had drowned her out, he didn’t care about the  _ friend and lover  _ she had lost. Everyone’s condolences mean jack shit. 

“What a bunch of jackasses, huh?” Grif palms the eye light and rubs his thumb over it.

 

Simmons does not respond.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile since I've just written something so indulgently painful. So here have sad Grif. Also... if anyone sees this and is inspired... draw Grif holding the eyepiece omg. It played out like a movie scene for me. And if you need to feel happy again, read Simmons Gets Fat (kind of) because that is the polar opposite of this. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed your pain!


End file.
